


Manolo's Curse

by GhostlyMuse



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Skeleton!Manolo, Three Amigos, Xibalba causing trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostlyMuse/pseuds/GhostlyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the third day after he and Maria had wed, Manolo finds himself as a skeleton once again but still walking the Land of the Living. Discovering that his frightening condition is the result of Xibalba's curse, Manolo must confront the emotions that his death had imposed upon his friends. Only when the emotional debt is paid will Manolo be truly free from his curse, or else spend the rest of his life under its influence. Luckily, with Maria and Joaquin, the Three Amigos won't rest until they've solved this problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manolo's Curse

He never thought that her voice could possibly sound more beautiful to his ears than it always had, and yet in the soft glow of the sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows, her drowsy 'Good morning, husband' had been enough to make his heart melt. María's voice seemed to embody everything soft and warm, and Manolo couldn't help but to press his face into the nape of her neck and smile. Three days ago the former torero, now guitarrista, had been wedded to the love of his life and even now with his arms wrapped around her underneath the blankets his fingers twitched as if he knew exactly which strings on his guitar he would play in that perfect moment.

Manolo had fought his way through a life and death ordeal in order to save San Angel and María. In all honesty, he would do it all over again if he knew that he would wake up to this every morning for the rest of his life. Of course, he was a romantic in the entire sense of the word and at times it did tend to clash with his wife's practical nature. Not that he minded, or at least, did his best not to mind. It was one of the many reasons he loved her, after all.

"Manolo," María sighed tiredly, still half asleep and eyes still shut against the light, "It is too hot for this right now, scoot over  _por favor?_ "

"Oh, right, right of course." Manolo said quietly, putting some distance between them as he sat up, "It is probably a good idea for me to get up anyway. I need to go out and help the others."

In truth, Manolo had put it off for long enough. Restoration efforts had landed onto the people of the town after the battle with Chakal and he'd taken the time to relax and sit back after his wedding day. But after having been in the battle himself and feeling guilt for his whole role in the entire situation in the first place, it only seemed right that he finally pitch in a hand. It was likely that Joaquín had already spearheaded the restoration of the town and Manolo couldn't give him the further satisfaction of putting it off so his friend could poke fun at him for being soft.

The guitarrista chuckled quietly to himself at the thought, already having the imaginary conversations running through his mind and attempting to formulate the comebacks he would need before the conversation began. Though he'd always been rather bad at that anyway, even in advance Joaquín was always better at that sort of thing and would come up with jabs that even Manolo couldn't foresee. One would think that with the songs he made up on the spot that Manolo would be better at quick witted responses but he always played from the heart, and he supposed that the sort of light hearted meanness that came with his and Joaquín's joking exchanges just wasn't in him.

Occupied with his thoughts, Manolo hadn't even realized that he'd already made his way to the lower floor of Casa Del Sanchez. With both his father and grandmother having gone to join the rest of his family in the Land of the Remembered it seemed a waste to let his childhood home lay empty. So, in spite of María's father's wishes, they moved into the small family home instead of the larger mansion that housed the Posada family. Still, he certainly missed his familia, and cast a small bittersweet smile at their portraits hanging above the fireplace mantle.

Both Manolo and María were still in the process of rearranging their home, deciding which furniture to move or to keep, and Manolo's belongings had yet to reside anywhere in their new bedroom. His clothes and belongings still stood in his former room and while he no longer viewed himself as a torero, it felt wrong not to wear the uniform that he'd been conditioned to wear since he was young. It was what he was used to and it was as simple a thought as that. Distracted once more by his own musings, Manolo barely took notice as he grabbed his clothes and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

And in an instant he realized that today was not going to go according to plan. He was shocked as he reached for his comb and instead his eyes registered a flash of bleached whiteness and as he jumped his eyes darted to the mirror. It was only when he found himself pressed against the wall, his own hand covering his mouth and María's distant shout of concern that Manolo realized that he'd screamed in fright. He was weak at the knees and relied on his grip against the wall to keep himself standing straight and he'd been quiet for just a moment too long as María's questioning shout of 'Manolo?' repeated itself.

"I-I'm fine!" The guitarrista shouted back, failing at his attempt to keep his voice steady. "I-I just… cut myself shaving! I'm okay! N-nothing to worry about!"

As María seemed to take this explanation, the voice inside Manolo's head screamed at him that this was DEFINITELY SOMETHING TO WORRY ABOUT. He swiped clumsily for the door handle and quietly shut the bathroom door so María couldn't walk in on him as he stared wide-eyed at the reflection in the mirror. The eyes that met his own were most certainly his, but not the ones that he'd ever expected to see any time while he remained alive.

The bright yellow lights danced in empty eye sockets as they darted around while Manolo stared at his other features within the mirror. His pleasantly earthy skin tone was gone, replaced with sun bleached bone, and in the middle of his face was a dark hole where his nose should have been. He glanced down at his hands and finding them equally skeletal in appearance Manolo reached up and traced at the neatly carved designs that decorated his skull.

"Oh no…" He whispered to himself, "No no no nononono. Why?  _Why?"_

Manolo hissed quietly, trying not to give into the silent panic that had settled in his chest. He was in the Land of the  _Living_! Why did he look  _dead?!_  There had to be some sort of explanation, he had to be dreaming, or maybe something had happened in the middle of the night, maybe La Muerte or Xibalba-!

Manolo grew deathly still as he heard the creaking of the floorboards above him as María began to stir and make her way across their room. He couldn't let her see him like this, he had to find help! Someone who had a cool head on their shoulders and someone who knew how to think rationally in a stressful situation, someone like-

"Joaquín!" Manolo muttered to himself in revelation.

It was the creaking of the floorboards above him that sent Manolo into action, changing into his clothes so quickly that he was practically a blur, and as soon as he'd fixed his hair the bathroom door flung open and he dashed out past the living room as he grabbed his guitar and out the front entrance. Realizing his mistake, Manolo pressed his back against the front door and braced his arms on the wall behind him. He couldn't let anyone see him like this, lest he frighten them or draw unwanted attention, he didn't need to imagine the panic if María found out he'd somehow died  _again_. Assuming that he'd somehow died and remained in the Land of the Living in the first place. Thankfully, the stone paved road in front of the Casa Del Sanchez was deserted save for a few lone chickens that pecked and clucked dismally at the sand.

Glowing eyes wide and lips pursed, Manolo kept his back pressed against the wall and slid around the corner to the lesser-used alleyways that would offer him shelter from prying eyes. For a second, he wondered if maybe he should dash back inside and find something with which to cover his face, but the shutters from a window above flung open and he caught a glimpse of María's radiant skin. Manolo sucked in his chest and pressed further against the wall as his wife tilted the washbasin out of the window and emptied it of the water that was inside, passing only inches from his face and muddying the ground at his shoes. He didn't dare look up, and only allowed himself to relax when the shutters snapped shut again.

_Nope._

Crossing the town without being seen wasn't much of a feat. Late nights out with his band had taught him all of the shortcuts and seedy areas of San Angel that most avoided if possible, even in the daylight. Still, the skeletal guitarrista's journey consisted of panicked glances around corners and haphazard running to a new area of cover. Though he hadn't quite anticipated the amount of difficulty he would have in catching Joaquín's attention without being exposed to others.

There was a reason that the town had been as easy as it was to cross, and that was because everyone had gathered around to Joaquín's beck and call as he directed the restoration efforts. Rubble still littered the streets, making it laborious to those with carts or transporting goods, houses were in need of repair, and the graveyards required a level of affection. Manolo groaned outwardly and ran his hands down his face, hidden behind the scorched remains of the bell that Chakal had perished inside.

Dirtying his knees as he knelt down and peered around the edge of the bell, Manolo began to formulate a plan on how to catch his friend's attention. It would be easier if the hero still had both eyes. This was the first time that it had appeared to be a problem, really, as Joaquín had taken the injury in stride due to the fact that 'eyepatches are cool'. Manolo couldn't help but to grumble to himself however, as every time he chanced a wave or a glance around the protective shell he risked getting the attention of someone else.

The skeleton let out an audible groan and took his guitar from his back, sitting against the bell and letting his skull fall back against the metal with a dull ring. He needed to find a way out of this and as his boney fingers strummed quietly across the strings of the guitar a frighteningly dark shadow passed overhead. Manolo's eyes widened and he sent his gaze skyward to find his vision immediately obscured. He yelped and thrashed out his arms only to discover that the offending object that had darkened his vision was a simple feather.

Manolo furrowed his brow, following the path of the glossy black plumage as it settled into the dust. Glancing back up, there was nothing in the bright clear blue sky that would have created such a shadow. His curiosity getting the best of him, Manolo reached for the feather and held it between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it around to catch the light. Suddenly, a flash of black and green caught his eye and was gone in less than a second, but his glowing eyes had already locked onto the area where it had disappeared into the shadows of a nearby mausoleum. Manolo scowled and stood, dropping the feather to the ground as he brushed off his pants, the neck of his guitar gripped tightly in his other hand.

"Xibalba." He muttered, glancing back and forth before dashing from his cover and towards the imposing structure.

As soon as Manolo entered the shadows of the mausoleum he shivered. It was cold, far too cold inside the stone building and disturbingly dark. Even his own glowing eyes failed to pierce the suffocating darkness that seemed to go on far too long in comparison of the size of the structure. He whirled around as he felt a flurry of movement, brandishing his guitar in absence of his swords. Manolo frowned, only finding the empty entrance of the mausoleum and the bright light of day beyond. With a sigh he turned to continue further into the structure only to find himself dwarfed by the impossibly tall figure before him.

Manolo shouted and slipped, his foot giving out beneath him as he fell back and onto the hard stone floor. His guitar thudded and twanged as it fell away and slid to the wall next to him and he winced as if it had hurt him just as much. At the sound of dark chortling, Manolo's look of concern morphed into a scowl as he attempted to muster up what remaining dignity he had to face the individual in front of him.

"Xibalba!" He shouted, "What, que, what is the meaning of this?!" Manolo gestured to himself.

Xibalba, however, seemed uninterested in Manolo's outburst and far more interested in one of his pointed claws. Yet the subtle smirk that played at his lips revealed his amusement in the situation. Xibalba was as imposing and terrible as ever, garbed in his dark armor while whatever putrid things that he was made out of glowed with a dull green.

"Why, whatever do you mean, Manolo?" He asked, feigning his amount of involvement in the situation, "You look quite nice, by the way. Is that a new suit?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Xibalba!" He growled, jabbing a finger in his direction, "What did you do to me?! The wager is over! María, Joaquín, and I are no longer involved!"

Manolo suddenly faltered as Xibalba trained his eyes on him, giving him a firm look that immediately made him drop his hand to his side despite clinging to his look of anger. The dark figure smirked and moved to the side and to bend down to pick up the guitar that Manolo had dropped. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from telling Xibalba off for touching it.

"You are very correct, Manolo. After your little stunt, the wager was settled after you and María were happily wed." Xibalba hummed, strumming a single note on one of the guitar strings only to snap it with his sharp finger. "Oh, my bad. Anyway, why are you asking me when you clearly did this to yourself?"

"Did this to my- No! That is  _not_ true!" Manolo refuted, snatching his guitar away in a surge of courage and cradling the broken string. "I did not make this choice!"

"Oh, but you did." Xibalba rumbled, an ominous tone of amusement to his voice. "In a way, of course. I won't deny my involvement, but for the most part this was all you."

"Explain." Manolo demanded, only to shrink back slightly at Xibalba's murderous gaze. " _P-Por favor."_

"Hmph. Well, ever since La Muerta and I have begun to share our kingdoms, she's been… encouraging me to help others recognize their wrongdoings and to better themselves. So there you go, this is my way of helping."

Manolo sputtered, "Helping?! Wrongdoings?! What have I done wrong?! I have done nothing!"

"Oh, but you have, you have." Xibalba corrected with a wicked grin, "You see, Manolo, you have a debt that must be repaid. A very grave debt that will no doubt haunt you for the rest of your life supposing you fail to recognize and repay it."

The guitarrista shook his head, "I do not understand! I have no debts, not unless my father was leaving without paying-"

"This is no monetary debt, Manolo, but one far deeper than that." Xibalba interrupted, "This is an emotional debt, one that you accrued when you opted to take your own life."

"But  _you_  are the one that killed me!" Manolo accused, shouldering his guitar.

"But you wanted me to."

Manolo opened his mouth to argue before he found the words lost before he could speak them. He scowled but that too turned to a frown as he hung his head in shame, his gaze locking onto one of his own skeletal hands. Xibalba crossed his arms in triumph, looking smug and sure of himself. He might have suffered his injustice of losing the wager with La Muerte, but that didn't mean he couldn't get back at Manolo for causing that in a way.

"But there is still hope for you to turn back to normal." Xibalba pointed out, finding the sudden look of hope on the skeleton's face obnoxious, "But it is up to you, and you alone to discover those who had been affected by your death. It was an act of love maybe, but at its core it was for  _selfish_ reasons and you spared nary a thought for those who you had left behind." Xibalba continued, ignoring the look of realization on Manolo's face. "Now it's time for you to repay your debt to them. How you do so is your business, but if you fail well… you'll stay the same as you are now."

And without another word, Xibalba retreated further into the shadows of the mausoleum, the blackness consuming him and leaving Manolo standing in silence. The weight of his actions seemed to crash down all around him at once, and to think that he'd woken up that morning with María thinking that everything was suddenly fine and dandy now that he was back and they had gotten married. He'd never given a moment to think of the pain he'd caused, only reveled in the happiness that came with his return.

"Manolo, brother! You in there?!"

Manolo had just about enough with fright; tired of being startled and jumpy like he'd been all morning. Joaquín's sudden bellowing voice had been like a wrecking ball to his ears and he was seized by panic at having to face his amigo. Despite not having a throat, he gulped and steeled his nonexistent nerves as Joaquín moved to meet him inside the mausoleum.

"I heard shouting and I thought you might be in trouble, and of course there's nothing I still can't handle." Joaquín said with a laugh, though soon grew concerned as Manolo refused to turn to him. "Ah… Manolo… are you alright?"

"Actually, I could really use your help." Manolo admitted, turning to meet his amigo with a small forced smile.

Joaquín's one good eye widened, but he refused to step back. He wondered if somehow his remaining eye was playing tricks on him, but given Manolo's demeanor he doubted that anything would be able to make him see something like this unless it were truly happening. Manolo looked just like his family that had come to the Land of the Living for a short time to help them in battle. But it didn't make any sense, not unless-

"You aren't-"

"No, no, I'm not dead, Jouaquín. At least, I don't think so." Manolo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "If I am, then I'm still staying in the Land of the Living."

The hero of San Angel sighed in relief and scratched at his eyepatch, his disbelief still evident on his face.

"María is not going to like this."

"No… I don't think she will." Manolo answered with a nervous laugh, "But it's not permanent, at least, not with your help."

At this, Jouaquín seemed to perk right up. Anything that was about him would put him in a good mood no matter the situation, and he strolled into the mausoleum with a new confidence as he clapped a hand on Manolo's shoulder. The skeleton winced at his friend's strength, but managed to smile at his reaction.

"Well brother, what do you need?"

And so Manolo recounted his encounter with Xibalba, explaining the causes behind his current state. The way that Xibalba had explained the curse was vague at best, and left the majority of it for Manolo to figure out on his own. Jouaquín nodded, stroking his mustache now and again as his amigo hit the main points and also the requirements to lift the curse that he'd fallen prey to.

"Well, it seems you're in a pretty tight spot there." Joaquín admitted, removing his hat and sauntering over to Manolo into an uncomfortably tight side hug that threatened to crack ribs, "But it's nothing that Joaquín and the Three Amigos can't handle, right?"

The guitarrista gave his friend a pained grin, arms pinned to his side. "G-gracias." He choked, "I kne-ow- knew I could c-count on you."

"And that means that we need to talk to María pronto." Joaquín pointed out, releasing his friend and setting his hat back on his head in a determined gesture, "It's not the Three Amigos without her, right?"

If Manolo wasn't a skeleton he would have paled considerably at the thought, though his facial expression said it all. Joaquín patted his back supportively.

"Best to get the worst over with now." He pointed out.

"R-right." Manolo conceded, fearing her reaction.

"You did marry her after all." Joaquín pointed out with a smile, "Regret it yet?"

"Never!"

"Aha, you better not! Otherwise we'd have a problem." Joaquín laughed, smacking Manolo hard enough in the back that it could have floored him. "No retreat?"

Manolo rubbed at his back, resigned with the tasks ahead as he stood next to his friend.

"No surrender."

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this movie so much, and already with an obsession with the paranormal I couldn't just let skeleton!manolo go that easily. I'll do my best to continue to update, should I find myself with the time. Thanks for reading, and if you really want to see more chapters, please comment!


End file.
